


Cat's Cradle

by CharlesKornikova



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 11:28:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlesKornikova/pseuds/CharlesKornikova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing is ever just black and white with Derek and Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cat's Cradle

No strings attached.

_Yeah right._

They both know they’re full of shit from the moment they try to act like what’s between them is nothing.

That it’s just some sort of stress relief.

An attempt to clear the tension between them.

It’s not the sex.

It’s not the messy, hours of kissing or even the silence of the night filled with panting breaths and sweat drying against their skin.

They’ve got more strings then a game of cat’s cradle

_He listens to the banging of the headboard against the wall to focus on a rhythm rather than the feeling of his cock slipping in and out of this sweet velvet warmth encasing him. The less it has to do with Stiles and the more it has to do with sex the better. Even the idea of Stiles likes this makes his dick throb, mustering something predatory inside of him._

_“Derek…”_

_He glances up and meets those hazel orbs staring back at him over the slim shoulder before lowering his gaze away. Goddamn it. Derek blushes at the idea he’s bottoming out inside the boy in front of him. On his hands and knees, moaning and rutting back against him with as much vigor as he can muster. Whispering his name like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. Derek’s body knows that heart beat. His blood rushes at the contact with his skin. His stomach and heart know that scent that has endorphins flooding his system into overdrive._

_He whimpers as his belly begins to coil, nearing his release sooner than he wants. There isn’t anything more he wants than to thrust into this body till his heart gives out right in his chest. Stiles yelps when Derek pushes him against the bed, not just his front but his whole body, pulling out for a moment before spreading the human’s legs wider and thrusting right back in. Stiles hands scramble for purchase in the sheets, head turning back just enough to allow one of his eyes to get a look at the Alpha. Derek growls playfully, licking at Stiles shoulder blade and savors the taste of his sweat on his tongue._

_Stiles nods, to what, he isn’t quite sure but he does and Derek understands this is supposed to answer a question that doesn’t exist. He grabs one of the hands clutching the sheet, threading his own larger fingers through it before draping himself across the boy’s back and loses his concentration. They sing the same song every night, Derek’s strikes uneven and wild while Stiles grinds against the tight strings, his sound like a mountain lions cry as it rises against the thump of the wood. Derek ends the melody abruptly, like the slash of the butcher’s blade against the throat of his kill, blood exploding to coat everything, to stain every inch of everything clean until its muddied._

_Nobody will take responsibility for what happens next. Not Derek who pulls Stiles backwards until he’s sitting Indian style with Stiles in his lap, gasping like a drowned man. Not Stiles who clutches Derek’s hand against his raging heart, tightening his hold on their intertwined fingers. Not the moon shining down upon them, a clock counting down the days until the three nights a month they can’t have this. Stiles might clutch Derek’s hand to his chest but it’s Derek’s arm that winds over the slim chest, elbow encasing on shoulder while his large hand lays across the ball of the other side. Stiles lays his chin on the forearm, panting as werewolf and human alike squeeze their hands just a little tighter; knowing one day it might not be just be three days a month that they can’t have this._

He should’ve known from the moment he met that this kid was trouble.

_Panting Stiles clutches his hand as tight as he could muster, sniffling. Derek presses his nose to the space behind his ear, whimpering into the damp scent there. He’s shaking. He can feel his hold on the boy shaking through the endorphins in his system. They fucked up. Tears from Stiles eyes slide down his cheek, falling off the cliff to land on his forearm. The impact draws him taunt against Derek’s chest, the werewolf turning his face to bury it into the softness of his skin and they sway. They sway like the waves in the ocean as the wind picks up around them and the night grows cold. Stiles fears what the demons lurking in Derek might do so he acts first. Just like that all the brute strength in Derek’s arms fall away in the crash against the rocks, breaking. Breaking them. Breaking what little they have that wasn’t supposed to be there. Stiles doesn’t trip over all the red strings, just lets go of that hand keeping him alive and pulls out of Derek’s arms._


End file.
